


A Compass That Doesn't Point North

by MrsSaxon



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (2006)
Genre: He just doesn't know what to do with it, Implied Relationships, Jack Sparrow has a heart, Multi, OT3, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:52:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4091137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsSaxon/pseuds/MrsSaxon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignette during Dead Man's Chest. Jack broods on why his compass doesn't work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Compass That Doesn't Point North

The key was to not think about the key. Not to think about the key, but rather to think about the location of the key. Or not think about the location of the key, but rather how much he wanted to know the location of the key. And by the time he had worked all that out, usually all he wanted was a drink of rum.

Something was interfering with his normally exceptional navigational skills. And if he knew what that something was, well then, he wouldn’t be in this fix, now would he?

Jack tapped the compass and as it made its third pass over the meridian he gave up, groaning. He could almost feel his brain thinking and that was a very unsettling feeling. Under no circumstances did he ever want to be conscious of having a thought as that might lead to doing things and doing things would lead to consequences and consequences for him usually meant people wanting to kill him. It was all so much easier to take when he was half-drunk and delirious.

“Bloody bastard compass…” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. Glaring at it once more in the dim light, it almost spitefully changed direction on him.

“Aaaaugh! Why won’t you point at something and just stick with it?” he pleaded with the compass, scratching at the table surrounding it. The compass stubbornly swiveled away again.

Jack latched onto his rum bottle, pouting, and drank deeply, “It’s like you think I don’t know myself. ‘Course I know myself, I’m Jack Sparrow! Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please, and Captain Jack Sparrow wants to be free. So that means getting the key that can’t be found to open the chest that also cannot be found in order to forestall my inevitable judgement now just give it to me!”

The needlepoint stared straight at him.

“Well bugger you too if you’re going to be that way about it!” he stood up in a huff and paced around the room, looking out of the Pearl’s magnificent rear windows onto the sea below. It had been so easy navigating to the Isle de Muerta and back. But everything had started to go pear-shaped after putting Port Royal to his rudder. And when someone helpfully reminded him of his 13th anniversary coming up, things went from uneasy to bad.

Part of him wanted to run away onto land and never return to the sea. Part of him missed the whelp and his terrifying missy. Part of him wanted another drink of rum. And part of him wanted to see Davy Jones himself and take his chances. Better than all this running and hiding, surely.

“Oh shut up,” he mumbled at whatever part of himself was trying to be a conscience. That was the whole point of being a pirate, never listening to anyone, never doing anything you didn’t want to do. That’s what freedom meant, free of rules, responsibilities, caring… Except he didn’t know what he wanted and he did care.

What?

Did he just think that? Definitely not enough rum.

He took another deep swig, “Captain Jack Sparrow cares for nothing but himself and his ship. That’s all he needs… really. Mostly. I think.”

Jack paced away from the window, suddenly concerned his reflection in the low light and the warped glass might reveal something. His thoughts trailed off to Will and Elizabeth standing between him and the point of a sword, proud and smiling, and he felt something in his chest area give a tug. He swallowed down a dry throat and desperately sucked at the last drops in the bottle. Why did they have to pick him, of all people, to stand up for? Why did they have to be noble and brave and loyal and all those things that made them absolutely and damnably endearing? It was maddening.

He couldn’t _really_ be free if he actually cared for someone else, could he? Of course not. He’d seen enough fools go down that path and it always had a sorry end. Well not him, he’d promised himself. The only thing he loved was the Pearl and he’d sacrifice everything for her. He _had_ sacrificed everything for her which was why he was in this mess. In return, she gave him speed, security, freedom, and a home. She could never betray him or tie him to commitments. She went wherever he went without complaint, without question. But she could never really defend him, either. He had to protect her, but a ship was, after all, just a ship.

Jack sat heavily back in his chair and stared glassily at the shifting compass. So he was left with a dilemma. Did his heart truly lie with selfish desires, gold, ships, and freedom? Or did it lie with other people, people who cared about him, and who he, unwilling as he may be, also cared for in return?

He picked up the bottle and, noticing how light it felt, turned it upside down. A few desultory drops splashed onto his maps. He sighed, “Why is the rum always gone?”


End file.
